


together, a galaxy apart

by em_gray



Series: Star Crossed Verse [3]
Category: The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue Series - Mackenzi Lee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Childhood Friends, Demisexual Percy Newton, Epilepsy, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Injury, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Telepathic Bond, fight me, i project strongly and i'm valid, oho what's this??? a little star crossed prequel ish fic that i churned out in a day??, the google doc is titled "yearning space gays tm" and that pretty much sums it up, this really is just 4.5k of fluff huh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:21:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27457135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/em_gray/pseuds/em_gray
Summary: I don’t think there’s ever been a time where I didn’t wish Monty and I could be together in person already.
Relationships: Henry "Monty" Montague & Percy Newton, Henry "Monty" Montague/Percy Newton
Series: Star Crossed Verse [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1773700
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20





	together, a galaxy apart

**Author's Note:**

> No sequel yet (though it is in the works!!) but unfortunately I seem incapable of leaving this AU alone, so, y'all get a oneshot about the development of Monty and Percy's relationship prior to Star Crossed (which you should read before this one, since it is a continuation of sorts). Hope you enjoy!

I don’t think there’s ever been a time where I didn’t wish Monty and I could be together in person already.

Well, technically, where I didn’t wish  _ my soulmate _ and I could be together in person. Definitely not Henry Montague, Crown Prince of the Empire, and I. If you’d have as much as suggested that before Monty and I met, I’d probably have lost it. I mean, when I found out he was my soulmate, I did lose it. But very well, it’s in the past now. A part of our story, I suppose.

Anyway. 

Starting out in the little ways. Being half a galaxy apart didn’t stop us from playing together as kids every day that we could. Space pirates was one of our favorite games. I saw the adults at the Crown and Cleaver leave on important missions constantly and heard their tales about it. To me, it was the coolest thing imaginable. So I told my soulmate some of those stories—vaguely, as far as I could, with bond restrictions—and not much later, the two of us were constantly running around our respective homes in oversized coats and with brooms for swords.

We never grew tired of it. We often pretended we were two explorers, separated by a solar storm, and we were on a quest to find each other again. We pretended to read star maps and fight enemies and discover foreign planets, alongside with all the adventures that came with them. At one point Ebrahim helped me build a “spaceship” out of cardboard boxes and other scrap, in a corner of the West Docks, and I spent whole days “travelling the universe”, searching for the owner of that funny voice in my head.

Initially, lots of people gave me odd stares when they saw me running about the base on my own, laughing and tripping over myself with all the fun I was having. Some stopped me and asked if I wouldn’t rather be playing with other kids my age.

I told them I already was.

It was still brushed off quickly, as plenty of children have imaginary friends. It’s only when I got older and I kept up my constant conversation, my inside jokes and games, that Scipio very gently asked more questions about the voice in my head. It’s during that talk that he realized I must be Linked, by means of soulmate. (He still made me do the pick-out-the-astridium test, to be sure, but apparently my description of the whole other person that was regularly talking to me didn’t leave much to doubt.) He didn’t explain much, as I was still too young to really understand, so he just told me I was Linked, as many other people here were, and that the voice in my head was, in fact, actually another person.

I’d rolled my eyes and said, “Obviously.”

In spite of spending most of my time “alone”, I was never a lonely child, because my soulmate and I were perfectly happy the way things were. Still, as content as we were, we missed the advantages that being together in person would yield, mostly for convenience of whatever game we were playing at the time. Then we’d complain about it briefly, but be right back to our make-believe just as fast.

It never went beyond that low-level impossible wishing of childhood until we were about thirteen, and definitely not in any way either of us could have anticipated. Monty had kissed another boy for the first time—when he told me, it gave me a strange feeling, in a way I wouldn’t understand until much later—and his father had hit him for it. It was the beginning of something beyond awful. In the few months after that, it occurred more and more. It terrified us, and for me, that came with a side of confusion and anger.

Because I didn’t understand yet.

Monty always tried to hide it, talk around it, brush it off. Lied, even. So the first time I felt a sudden hit to the jaw, completely out of the blue, and my soulmate told me he’d just ran into something, I believed him. But the seemingly random hits became more frequent, more numerous, more painful. For me they had no warning but an uneasy stirring in my gut. I’d just be practicing the violin, and the next moment I’d be on the floor, throbbing of a soon-to-be bruise on my temple.

I was a fairly lucky child, with people caring for me and making my life as nice as they possibly could in the circumstances, so in spite of the bruises and scrapes and the sole broken bone any child could get out of being a little uncautious while playing, pain was a fairly foreign sensation to me.

So I lost my patience with Monty. I asked him why he couldn’t be more careful. Why he didn’t know better than to pick fights. I got mad at him when he bruised our right hand, two days before the Crown and Cleaver’s free podium night, when he’d  _ known _ I’d been practicing for months to perform with my violin. They were a tense few months between us, and both of us hated it.

But one day, Monty broke. He’d been hurt and he felt so scared and trapped that it spilled out of him. At first, I was still confused—why couldn’t he just defend himself? Why couldn’t he get away from his father? Why couldn’t he ask for help?

It was something I had yet to learn. I don’t really hold it against myself. I was young. I lived with the rebels. From as long as I could remember, I’d been taught to stand up for myself and for the people I cared for. To speak up when I saw an injustice happening. To look for peaceful solutions if possible, yes, but if there were none, to never go down without a fight.

I realized that my soulmate and I had had  _ completely _ different upbringings.

It was a weary certainty falling over us both, realizing we were stuck in a situation with no way out. I couldn’t ask anyone for help, because I’d promised Monty I wouldn’t tell. All he could do was give me a heads up, and all I could do was to comfort him afterwards.

It was then that I was overcome with a stronger desire than ever to be with him. I wanted to comfort him in person.

I wanted to protect him.

It was around the same time that Scipio had sat me down and finally explained to me what it really meant to have a soulmate. I had a vague suspicion, based on off-hand remarks and anecdotes I’d heard, but that was the first time it really solidified in my head. The first time things added up.

He told me about the Heart, about stardust and Links, the most common of them being a soulbond. Two people, telepathically connected, who were… destined to fall in love.

I was destined to fall in love with the voice in my head.

“It still has to be your choice,” Scipio had insisted on. “Yours, and your soulmate’s. The universe can decide what it likes, but if you don’t want to be anything more than friends, then that’s okay too. Don’t put too much weight behind it. Just… let your relationship develop naturally.”

In as far as it’s possible to have a relationship develop naturally when your thoughts and feelings are laced together.

It was… a  _ lot _ to take in. Mind you, I hadn’t even consciously realized I was gay, back then. The second I thought about it, not much else made sense, obviously, but  _ still _ .

Monty and I were meant to fall in love.

You might think that would come with a lot of pressure. And it did, in a way. Initially it was quite scary because—I  _ liked _ the way my relationship with Monty was. What would have to change? Would we not be able to be friends anymore? Would we have to get married the day we met? What if either of us met someone else we liked?

I didn’t know much about romantic love at that age. Didn’t even think about it, really. It was foreign territory, and it scared me a little bit.

A few more thorough conversations with Scipio put me at ease. He’d noticed I’d been freaking out since we’d had our talk and made me express my concerns. He assured me that  _ if _ my soulmate and I one day wanted to take up a romantic relationship, we could absolutely do so at our own pace, and we could definitely still be friends. He said that a good friendship was always a solid foundation for a healthy relationship.

So when I’d calmed down, I was able to evaluate things properly. I thought at length about what it meant to  _ love _ someone. I asked around at the base what romantic love really meant. People told me about strong fondness, about wanting to spend lots of time with the other person, about a fluttery feeling in your chest when you thought of them. About wanting more than anything else for them to be happy.

“But I already feel that way about him,” I’d said. “He’s my favorite person in the world. That’s why he’s my best friend.”

All I got in reply to that were fond smiles and head shakes.

It still confused me, where exactly the line was between platonic and romantic affection—sometimes even to this day—but as I laid awake at night, it slowly settled into me. If I had to spend my life with anyone, I couldn’t imagine anyone I’d rather do that with than with my soulmate. I cared about him deeply, I wanted him to be happy, and some days I wanted  _ nothing _ more than to be able to hold him and never let go.

So maybe I’ve always been in love with him, in a way.

In retrospect, finding out at a later age that I’m on the asexuality spectrum, my little crisis suddenly made a lot more sense.

One day, when I got tired of going over things in my head like a detective gathering evidence in the mysterious case of  _ Romantic or platonic love? _ , I decided to ask my soulmate how he felt about it. When he was completely clueless about the meaning behind soulmates, I stumbled through an awkward recollection of what Scipio had told me.

He was quiet for a long while. Then he said,  _ So you and I are meant to fall in love? _

_ We don’t have to _ , I’d quickly added, suddenly blushing for a reason I didn’t understand.  _ It’s just what the stories say. If we just want to be friends, that’s okay too. _

Another long pause.  _ I think I’d like to fall in love with you, though. _

Oh. I fumbled for words for a while, my cheeks burning and an odd light feeling curling around my heart. Is this the fluttery feeling people talk about?  _ I… I think I’d like to fall in love with you, too, someday. _

_ Oh. Okay. _

We both felt giddy, a smile curling on my lips.  _ But no rushing things _ , I’d still quickly added.  _ We’re best friends first and foremost. _

_ Absolutely _ , my soulmate had replied in such an earnest tone that it made me laugh, and in that moment I realized I’d never feel as at ease around anyone else than him.

So maybe falling in love with my soulmate could be simple after all.

Now that we were in careful agreement about the possible future of our relationship—and happy about it to boot—I allowed myself to think about all the things that might imply. All the extra things a romantic relationship might include.

I’ve always wanted to be with him. I’ve always longed to hug him.

Now I also started thinking about kissing him.

The first time, the thought caught me off guard. It seemed like something so silly. Forbidden, maybe, even. But the thought made a giddy warmth blossom in my chest. I’d never kissed anyone before. Wasn’t interested in kissing anyone. It honestly seemed a rather odd thing to do, in my eyes. But kissing my soulmate…  _ that _ didn’t sound so bad.

Monty had kissed people before. Started doing it regularly, even. He said he enjoyed it, and I recognized that feeling when it crossed over our bond. He also said it wasn’t as big of a deal as people always made it out to be, but still, something pleasant.

And if my soulmate and I were to meet and fall in love someday, we’d get to kiss, too. It sounded lovely.

Just a nice thing to think about.

We skirted into the nebulous shade of color that lay somewhere between unbreakable childhood friendship and something more. Cautiously. One step at a time. And more and more, we longed to be together in person.

In all the little ways.

When his father had hurt him again, I said,  _ I wish I was with you. _ Then, more hesitantly,  _ Then I’d kiss you on the forehead. And I’d run my fingers through your hair until you felt better. _

I was afraid of overstepping. It was a risk—even something as innocent as that felt like it was saying too much, spilling too much of my feelings out in the open. But I could feel what the words did to him; he mellowed completely, going all warm and fuzzy inside, and I knew I was on the right track.

It was a dance for two—and Monty was the more daring one. When I’d said something coy, he’d retaliated by saying,  _ If I was with you right now, I would kiss your stupid smug face until you weren’t smug anymore. _

And sometimes,  _ My day sucks. Wish you were here right now so we could cuddle up. _

And occasionally,  _ The only thing that could improve this moment for me would be you kissing me on the cheek. _

But God, it really ended up being the simple things, the cheesy romantic things that left me swooning the most.

_ Hey, _ he’d said one evening.

_ Hm? _

_ Lift your hand for me. _

I looked up from my book and frowned.  _ What? _

_ Just do it? _

I rolled my eyes with a smile, then did as he asked.  _ There. Now what? _

_ Close your eyes. _

_ Okay. _

_ Now take your hand with your other hand. _

_ I’m  _ incredibly  _ confused. _

_ Just go along with it. _

_ I am. _

_ Okay, have you got it? See, that’s actually me taking your hand right now. _

I snorted.  _ It’s not. _

_ Yes, it is. Have some imagination, Two Tooth the Terrible. _

_ That’s Captain to you. _

He rolled his eyes.  _ I’m taking your hand. _ Then, I felt a soft pressure on the back. A small circle being pushed down.  _ That’s me kissing your hand. We’re at a ball, and I’m about to ask you to dance. _

And I swear, it was stupid and cliche, but it left me fumbling for words for hours.

Still, I was a worthy adversary.

I can’t even remember what Monty was teasing me about that afternoon, but I was getting tired of it.

_ If I was with you right now _ , I’d said,  _ I’d kiss you on the lips to shut you up. _

We both froze. It was the first time either of us had implied anything like that. But I could feel him being flustered and struggling for words, so I was hopeful I hadn’t said the wrong thing.

Eventually, his reply came, and it was,  _ I’d still be able to talk to you telepathically, even with my tongue in your mouth. _

I could feel his wicked grin, and I’m sure he could feel how much that idea was wrecking me. I held it together, rolled my eyes, and said,  _ I’ll be looking forward to it. _

_ So will I, darling. _

Monty had started trying out pet names.

_ I have to call you something _ , he’d said as an excuse, but I could feel the nervousness feathering the words. This was the next step, our next step in exploring a potentially romantic relationship.

So he started. Initially, there were many:  _ dear, sweetheart, honey, love, beautiful _ . When I’d pointed out he couldn’t possibly know how I looked, he assured me he was certain I was the most beautiful boy in the galaxy.

That left me a blushing mess for several days.

After a month, he settled on  _ darling _ .

Part of his motivations were to tease me, the moment he found out what the little word did to me. He could feel me getting flustered, no matter how often he used it—and he used it against me.

So naturally, I had to retaliate.

_ Aw, come on, darling _ , he’d said, when I was once again blushing and overcome with how ridiculously in love with him I was.  _ Don’t be shy. What’s the big deal about a pet name? Does it make you flustered? _

_ I don’t know _ , I’d replied.  _ Would it leave  _ you  _ flustered,  _ darling _? _

That had shut him up.

We danced together. We put on the same music, timing it to be simultaneous, then pretended to sway together, and for minutes I could forget we were half a galaxy apart.

Our first  _ I love you _ happened by accident.

It was Monty’s birthday, and we were drinking, both on our respective sides of the bond. We spent the evening in our rooms, with only each other as company, because that was the only thing we needed. I was a little past tipsy and making up stupid rhymes about him, which he very much enjoyed.

_ I love you, you brilliant bastard _ , he’s said at one point. Quite literally five minutes passed before we realized anything was out of the ordinary. And when we did, we were a bit surprised—but it was okay.

Less than a week later, I said it for the first time, also for a pointless reason. Not much later we were saying it pretty much on a daily basis. Unprompted. For no reason at all. As part of a little ritual, before we went to sleep, every day.

_ Sleep well, darling. I love you. _

The week after my first seizure might’ve been the worst of my entire life.

Initially because I didn’t know what was happening to me. I’d been feeling a bit odd all day, but nothing really extreme to tip me off. Then I was suddenly waking up in the hospital ward, nurse running around, a panicked Scipio at my side.

And that was only the beginning of it.

It was a long, dreadful week of scans and tests, some more uncomfortable and even painful than others, a week of little sleep and lots of visits and extensive questioning.

And to top it all off, a diagnosis.

I zoned out while the nurse explained what, exactly, epilepsy was, and how it would affect the rest of my life. That medication existed and that I was going to try out different doses and combinations to see what had the best effect on me. That we’d start negotiating with our allies straightaway for the best meds we could find, although we’d never find anything as advanced as Empire-level quality, but that it would help. Planning new check-ups and if I could ask anyone to keep an eye on me, at least in the beginning, and all the things I should be careful with from now on, if not avoid it altogether.

All the pity in everyone’s eyes. Months’ worth of it.

Monty’s support was the only thing that really made a difference. He was just as confused as I was initially, suffering the effects, and with me going in and out of consciousness regularly, he didn’t get many answers straightaway. But when I made it clear I was being looked after, he switched to caring concern.

So he stayed with me through it all. Well, not that he could  _ go _ anywhere, exactly, but he was more tuned in to me than ever. I told him about whatever tests were planned for me that day, and he’d cheer me on and make stupid jokes to help me get through. At one point they had to restart a scan because I’d burst out laughing at something Monty had said and me moving had messed up the image.

When I told him about what this meant for the rest of my life, of  _ our _ lives, he was quiet at first. I was starting to get worried I’d made him regret our bond—not that we had a choice—but then he said quietly,  _ I’ve never before wanted to hug you so badly as I do right now. _

I huffed. I had tears welling up in my eyes. I wiped at them.  _ I don’t think I’ve ever needed a hug from you so badly as I do now. _

_ When we meet, _ he said,  _ I’m going to give you a hug that lasts at least four hours. To make up for all the times we couldn’t before. _

I smiled through the tears.

_ And until then _ , he’d continued,  _ I’m going to be there for you. In any way I can. We’re going to get through this together, okay? You and me against the world, darling. _

I rolled onto my side in the hospital bed, hugging the blankets to me, and imagined it was him in my arms.  _ You and me against the world. _

The next time we’d have to remind each other that it was the two of us, together through anything, I was also in the hospital ward.

Monty had warned me. He’d told me his flings with that boy from boarding school had been found out, and that his father was on his way. I encouraged him to be brave. I assured him he’d done nothing wrong—suppressing some jealousy, as always, because it was not the time for that. I promised him I would stay with him until it was over.

Neither of us could’ve been prepared for the beating that followed.

I was in my room when it happened. We were both nervous, I was pacing back and forth, ice packages ready on my nightstand next to a glass of water and a painkiller. I thought we’d be all right.

We were not.

Half an hour later I was on the floor, struggling to breathe as everything hurt. I couldn’t even move. Monty and I were so in pain we could barely even talk to each other.

Scipio found me when he’d noticed I was late for dinner. It was shortly after my diagnosis, so people were still hovering over me constantly—which I hated, but on that day, it was a blessing. At first he thought I’d had a seizure, but I’d shaken my head, unable to speak. He’d carried me to the hospital ward, where they’d found out about the bruises—God, so many of them—and the broken ribs. I refused to talk to people, because what was there to say?

Eventually they left me alone.

That night, lying in bed, Monty told me he sometimes wished he could die without killing me in the process.

It had hit me like a ton of bricks.

_ What… What do you mean? _ I asked.

_ I’m sorry _ , he whispered.  _ I’m sorry. But I’m just good for nothing and–and all I’m doing is getting you hurt for my mistakes and–and I’m never going to be good enough and… _ His voice was choked.  _ Sometimes I wish I were dead. _

And, in its own way, that hurt me more than the beating itself earlier.

It took me a while to gather my thoughts. Suddenly, I was terrified of having to live in a world without him. It felt worse than death itself.  _ Don’t… Don’t do that. Don’t wish you were dead. _

He didn’t reply.

_ Here. I’ll give you five reasons not to be dead. _

The next morning, I spilled it all to Scipio. I hadn’t slept at all. Monty had finally fallen asleep, thankfully, and I was scared of moving and accidentally waking him up by sending a stab of pain across our band. So I was just quietly crying to myself, still hurting like hell, and trying and failing to figure out a way to help my soulmate.

It felt impossible.

But maybe, if I was with him, I could make more of a difference.

I asked myself a few times, after. I thought about meeting constantly. I thought it would help.

But there was the insidious question of,  _ Would it be enough? _

_ Would  _ you  _ be enough? _

Us actually meeting went in a fashion neither of us could  _ ever _ have imagined—with lots of shock, shouting and panic, and worlds being turned upside down.

Though I suppose that with a kidnapping we stayed true to our childhood make-believe games of playing space pirates.

It was a few weeks of trying to combine two people in my head who could impossibly be the same—the person I loved most in the universe, and one of the people I hated the most. It half drove me out of my mind. It was a slow process, of realizing they could be; that Henry Montague actually had the same sense of humor as my soulmate, that he spoke in the same rhythm, that he still had the ability to make me fumble for words by calling me  _ darling _ .

It was a long road, of similarities and differences, of repulsion and fondness, of steps forward and backward.

But we made it.

It’s a silly thing to remember, but I can still pinpoint the first time we actually touched. I don’t know if Monty still remembers. It was the first night he was at the Crown and Cleaver, and we’d made our deal. He shook my hand. I doubt he noticed anything strange, but it seemed to send an electric spark through me.

It went on like that. The following day, me tackling him at Versailles to get him out of the line of fire. Tending to his wound in the ship. Him taking my wrist at the meeting. Running my fingers through his hair to dye it a bright blue. Him wrapping his arms around me from behind as I sat in the pilot’s chair of the Eleftheria. Kissing my cheek while we were doing the dishes. Making out at the karaoke night.

Hugging him after being worried sick for him at the Mines. Holding him close as he cried, that night in bed, kissing his forehead and playing with his hair until he felt better, like I’d always promised I would. Barely leaving his side the week after. Dancing,  _ finally _ together—then again at the ball, and such a sweet kiss that I will remember for the rest of my life.

And so, so much more. It fills my heart with warmth, to line them up like this. To think that we’d finally get to do all those things we’d always dreamed of.

We made it.

“Stop thinking so loudly,” Monty mumbles into my neck.

I start from my ponderings, then smile. “I thought you were asleep.”

His voice is sleepy. “I was. But you woke me up. What are you feeling so happy about, anyway?”

“Can’t I feel happy just because I’m with you?”

He hums. “Maybe.”

I shift a bit so I’m lying more comfortably, and he moves his head to rest on my shoulder. “It was the reason, though,” I say softly. “I was just thinking about… all those times we wished we could be together in person. And now we are.”

Monty’s quiet for a bit. “We really did, didn’t we?” Another pause. “After eighteen years, we’re finally together.”

“We made it,” I whisper.

Monty opens his eyes, then props himself up on his elbows to lean in closer. His eyes glow faintly in the dark—something I doubt we’ll ever be rid off completely. “We made it,” he says, then presses a soft kiss to my lips. He smiles. “We still have so much catching up to do.”


End file.
